


Wider Than The Sky

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Related, Catharsis, During Canon, Emotional Baggage, Emotions, Frustration, Gen, Harry Potter is Alone, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hurt No Comfort, Stolen Moments, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Much like a virus when it infiltrated and began to fester within his body, this anger left him trembling and exhausted on every front. Until there was no longer a fire nor a hurricane when he spoke; but rather, the bitterness of a rattle until he screamed out his window.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Wider Than The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a rough week. Needed something cathartic.

Persistent, that's what it was. He could feel it thrumming as soon as he woke up: as soon as he fumbled for his glasses and nearly bent them, putting them on; as soon as he twisted from the covers and every part of him ran hot; as soon as he rattled for a breath and found it pressing into his pillow, leaving divots about the size of his two cracked fists; and as soon as he lurched and there was a lull to his head, winding ‘round and around and about as heavy as some lead. Flushed with handprints and sweaty palms, marring slowly down his neck — persistent, that’s what he’ll call it.

This  _ virus  _ inside his head.

Because it festers like a fever and those around him fall sick. Until the only thing Harry could do was quarantine for their benefit, until this  _ virus  _ ran its course and either killed or he’ll survive it. And he’s got a feeling it’ll be the former if he doesn’t do something about it. So Harry peels away his curtains, finding no one in the dormitory. Probably all of them had gone to breakfast; or rather, dinner when he caught the sunset.

Barely a dollop of bright orange could be made out from the horizon as it scattered behind the trees, bleeding further into the forests. Leaving a pinprick of unease when Harry slips onto the carpet, and it aggravates the  _ virus _ working down into his knuckles. Clenching, tightening, knobs of bone breaking through and at some point, he stops trembling. Because rushing in comes the cold: much like when you’re shivering without a jacket until there comes the point where you couldn’t. You’re just bottled with that sensation until inevitably, you pass out.

And for Harry, he feels it coming. It’s dawning over him like a hood. Every ache within his body starts to tighten until he can’t help it, and Harry’s reaching for anything that can subside what he’s feeling. But he skims and never touches, worried he’ll break whatever he’s holding. And as if a consequence to inaction, here he is — shattering, or nearly there as this  _ virus  _ runs amok throughout his body.

It’s taunting him to do something, knowing well that Harry can’t.

It’s that listless kind of honesty, or vulnerability if he were honest, that squeezes him around the neck until he forfeits that all is well. That there’s no danger, no enemy, no boogeyman coming to haunt him; that he’s wrong and has lost it, quite a victim to his own madness; and that the bolts in his throat and the nails on his tongue are just that and nothing more, maybe lies he told himself.

And if anything could set him off, it’s the thought that he’s done that — that he’s  _ lied  _ when he  _ hasn’t  _ and it jolts him to break something. Not with his hands, not with his words, but with his being.

God, it hurts.

So this leaves Harry with a few choices and he’s alone, he’ll make the most of it. He tears away the latch pin and shucks the window near his bed. Sticking out with all he is, there’s silence. Then he screams.

Then he howls with all his being.

A murder of doves and a song of crows burst forth from the forests and begin to dot below the sunset. As if he’s writing out his signature and is refusing to be kept down. Harry shouts until he can’t, and all that’s left is his echo. It ripples beyond the grounds and to the outskirts of the world. Until it’s indiscernible above the wind and only then, he shuts the window.

Breathless and alive, trembling upon his knuckles, he feels lighter than he has been. And for the first time in a long time, he hears his heart within his chest — hammering like a cure to flood a  _ virus  _ from his veins. It’ll only last for a while, but it’ll make fighting a little worth it. He doesn’t feel like he’s choking when he finally leaves the dormitory.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)


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